Soft Surrender (my whole wide world)
by serenadreams
Summary: Felicity goes missing from her home when she's eight years old. It takes Oliver ten years to find her. Childhood friends are torn apart by an unspeakable tragedy, only to be reunited by chance.
1. prologue

**AN: _So this fic has been a long time coming. I've had it all planned out for months, but it took me a while to find the right tone and get anything properly written down._**

_**Originally this was inspired by Soft Surrender (Where is She?) by The Killers. I was listening to it on repeat on a really long bus journey and ended up planning out this whole story in my head. But it also doubles up as a bit of a modern Tangled AU, which is a completely accidental but happy coincidence.**_

**_Anyway, please let me know what you think!_**

* * *

Prologue

___we'll be dressed in black_

___and you'll scream my name aloud_

The first time Oliver Queen lays eyes on Felicity Smoak, he's six years old and she's a tearful baby bundled up in her mother's arms. He doesn't pay her much attention, in fact he's far much more interested in the plate of 'welcome to the neighborhood' cookies that Mrs. Smoak is holding in her other hand.

The first time he really notices her, she's two and has a mess of chocolate curls and a pink dress on. He's eight and he spends the entire garden party trying to teach her to say his name.

The first time he decides he actually likes the funny little girl next door who makes silly faces at him and seems to always wear pink, she's three and she wanders into his garden looking for her ball, only to find him crying about something that happened at school. She sits down beside him and wraps her tiny little arm around his shoulders.

The first time he protects her, she's four and he's ten and he watches out his window as she gets pushed over by a couple of boys who live down the block. He rushes outside and bullies them off, before helping her up, brushing off her knees and holding her hand as he walks her back to her house.

The first time he misses her when she's not around, he just turned eleven and she can't come to his birthday party because she's in hospital with a bad case of the flu. He visits her the next day, with a slice of birthday cake carefully wrapped up in a paper napkin. He draws a smiley face on a balloon and ties it to the bars at the end of her bed. She laughs, her little face lighting up, and he's sure it's the best present he received.

The first time he kisses her, is the first time he kisses any girl. He's twelve and she's six. She presses her lips to his on a dare, before running back to her friends, blushing and laughing. He thinks he might love her a little bit.

The first time he braids her hair, she's seven and he sits with her in the playground at school, carefully picking out the hard lumps of paint that have stuck to the soft strands. He combs it through with his fingers and braids it down her back.

The first time he understands what the world is really like, he's fifteen and he watches from his window as the police pull up outside her house.

The first time he cries over a girl, is after his mother sits him down in the living room, with tears in her eyes. She explains that Felicity's missing, and the police haven't been able to find her. He doesn't say anything. He walks out of the room and hides under his bedclothes like he used to when he was a little kid. He cries until he can't anymore. And when he falls asleep, his dreams are filled with images of Felicity living out all the terrors he's seen in the few horror movies he's watched with friends. He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, a cold sweat coating his skin and a deep fear set in his bones that he's never felt before.

The next day he starts his campaign to get her back. He goes to the police station and asks for information on the case. They can't give him anything.

He collects all the newspaper articles reporting her disappearance and tacks them up on his bedroom wall.

He makes flyers and walks around the neighborhood, pinning one to every lamp post and garden fence he sees.

He visits Mrs. Smoak, sits with her while she cries. He looks around Felicity's room, searching for clues. His eyes filling with tears he's tired of shedding as he sees her things, all exactly where she left them. Waiting for her to come home.

For three years, Felicity Smoak overtakes his life. He spends every spare hour he has searching for her. His grades slip, his teachers worry about how withdrawn he's become.

His parents take him to a therapist. He spends the whole session talking about Felicity.

The lead detective on the case knows him by name before too long. And every time Oliver visits and asks if there's any progress, the shaken head and remorseful look, punches him in the stomach all over again.

At the beginning, there are candlelight vigils in churches, and her locker is turned into a shrine. But as time passes, people move on. They have something else to pray for, and her locker gets given to a new student who just arrived from Wyoming.

On the one-year mark, there's an honorary service. Everyone accepting the fact that she's not coming home. But Oliver doesn't let go, he's so sure that she's still out there, somewhere. He develops a hero complex over it, determined to be the one who finds her. Rescues her from her ordeal and returns her home where she belongs.

But the years pass and he doesn't find her. No one does.

Mrs. Smoak drinks a lot these days, and although Oliver still visits her sometimes, he thinks it makes her sad to see him.

It's not until he's standing on the graduation podium, diploma in hand, that he realizes he's barely lived since she disappeared. He doesn't have any friends any more, he can't remember the last time he was invited to a party. He's devoted his teenage years to the little lost girl across the road.

The little girl who probably isn't even alive anymore.

That's the first time he admits to himself that she might really be gone for good.

The first time he tries to let her go, he's eighteen and he spends his graduation night gathering up all the newspaper clippings, all the evidence reports, everything about her that he's collected over the years. He burns them all in the back yard, tears stinging his eyes.

He tries not to think about her all summer, forces himself not to feel guilty for giving up. His nights are plagued with dreams of her, begging him to come to her rescue, imploring him to keep searching for her. He develops insomnia and starts taking pills, only able to sleep if he passes out.

When he leaves for college, he promises himself it will be different. He won't be haunted by her anymore.

He throws himself into life. He drinks and parties and makes friends. He sleeps with countless girls. All in an effort to forget her smiling face. That little eight-year-old girl who was the very embodiment of innocence and light. His friend.

He'll do anything to lose the feeling that he's failing her.

Sometimes he can't block her out. Sometimes he thinks about what she'd be like if she were still here. He thinks about how old she'd be. Just fourteen now, almost the age he was when she went missing.

Sometimes when he drinks too much, he spends the night telling his roommate, Tommy, everything about her, confessing his failure to keep her safe. The self-imposed duty he gave himself when he was nothing but a kid. Determined to be her protector.

Tommy's learned not to mention it the next morning.

He barely scrapes through school, graduating when he's twenty-two. And then he spends his second graduation thinking about Felicity Smoak.

She'd be sixteen now. She'd be starting to date and wear makeup and wonder what she wanted from the rest of her life. He'd probably spend his summer back home, bullying away boys and picking her up from parties when she had a little too much to drink. If she were there. Which she isn't. So he doesn't go home. He doesn't even visit.

He gets a job at a nightclub in town. Tommy's buddy owns it and he lets them both work bar. They end up co-managing the whole place after a year. It's a nice enough job, and he actually finds himself enjoying it. He's good at knowing what people want, and he and Tommy make a good team.

He has a girlfriend for a bit, Laurel. She's beautiful, smart, everything that should be perfect. He wakes up in the night calling Felicity's name. Even after all these years, his nightmares are still as vivid as they were at the start.

He tells Laurel about her, even though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She's compassionate and understanding, and he should feel grateful. He should be relieved that she gets it, should revel in her comfort.

He goes out and cheats on her. Sleeping with the first pretty girl who approaches him at the bar. He's not sure why he does it, he's not sure what the hell's wrong with him.

Laurel breaks up with him, Tommy yells at him. He drinks enough to pass out for a day straight.

When he's twenty-four, an eighteen year old Felicity Smoak comes back into his life like a wildfire, setting everything ablaze and lighting up the dark skies above him, just like she always had before.


	2. Give Me Hope (Like Her)

_**AN: Sorry this chapter's so short. I've spent ages trying to work out a problem I have with the next part, and it still doesn't feel right. But I wanted to update sooner rather than later, so I decided to post this as a whole chapter while I rewrite the next bit. They'll get longer though, I promise!** _

_**Oliver's emotional turmoil at seeing her again was something I really tried to write as authentically as possible, and I'm not sure how it worked out. So I'd** **love to know what you think.**_

_**(And yes I did base Felicity's birthmark off Emily's tattoo!)**_

* * *

Chapter One - Give Me Hope (Like Her)

_I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you_  
_ Anywhere I would've followed you_

On a sunny April morning in Starling City, a slightly hung-over Oliver Queen walks into a coffee shop, and his world tips upside down. It's a cliché, the idea that one moment can change everything. But it does, because right there, for the first time in years, for one single, breathtaking second, he feels whole. Like everything is where it should be and nothing hurts.

Because she's there and she's alive and she's so, _so_ beautiful.

He notices the girl in front of him in line straight away. He can't see her face, but his gaze instantly takes in the rest of her; she has blonde hair that curls over her shoulders, a pleasant contrast to the dark blue t-shirt pulled tight across the curve of her back, just displaying a tantalizing strip of skin where it doesn't quite meet her jeans. He can tell she's gorgeous before she even turns around, and the spike of desire he feels is not unwelcome.

He takes the time to observe her, the way she taps her bright pink nails against her thigh, the sweet scent of her shampoo that wafts towards him whenever she moves, how petite she is, barely reaching his shoulder in height.

He's just deciding which line to use, that signature smile that's never failed him in the past falling easily into place, when she turns to look over her shoulder, clear blue eyes meeting his.

His heart stops beating.

He swears, for a second he feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. He can't breathe, he can't think, because even though it's been ten years, and she looks very different from the little girl he remembers, he'd be able to pick her face out of a crowd any day without fail.

But before he can react, do anything, _say_ anything, come to terms with what he's seeing, she's already turning away, taking a step toward the counter as the line shrinks. He follows automatically, his gaze far more intense than before as he takes in every visible inch of her. She's beautiful, all grown up, but she's still so _Felicity_, and it pulls at his heart in an all too familiar way.

He wonders if he's hallucinating, if he's finally gone insane. Because she can't be there.

She's _gone_.

Even thinking that word feels like a kick in the stomach and he closes his eyes tight, dragging a hand down his face, and desperately trying to hold together the rapidly fraying edges of his emotions.

_She can't be here_.

But she is. Because when he looks back up, she's still there, hair catching the sun as it streams through the windows, wearing cute little shoes with pandas on them.

He shifts to the side so he can see her face properly and, barely breathing, takes in every feature; the gentle curve of her nose, full lips painted a fuchsia that matches her nails, the scattering of freckles across her cheeks. He used to tease her about those freckles, pretending to count them, fingers dancing over her soft skin as she laughed.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, looking away at the thought that perhaps he's just projecting Felicity onto some random girl who's about the right age. Maybe he's seeing what he wants to see, so tired of the hollow ache that's hovered in the background of his consciousness since the day she disappeared. Maybe he really has reached the point of madness. Finally given in to the demons that lurk in the corners of his mind.

But then movement catches his eye and he looks up as she reaches out to point at something on the blackboards behind the counter, her sweet voice filtering through his senses as she orders, but all his focus is on her arm, where her sleeve has slipped up past her elbow.

In the years after her disappearance, he'd learned everything there was to know about her. And even if he hadn't, he'd seen that mark often enough in person when they were kids.

She has a jagged birthmark along the crease of her elbow. A tiny patch of slightly darker skin, that tells him that she's really there, he's not crazy, and she's standing just two feet away from him after all these years.

He wants to reach out and touch her, wants to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the steady thrum of her heartbeat under his fingers, assure himself that she's alive. He wants to grab her and run, take her back home, where she belongs. He wants to wrap her up in cotton wool and hide her somewhere far away, safe from the world where no one can touch her. And this time, he won't fail. This time, _he'll protect her._

Because she's _right there_.

His breaths are short and he feels a little dizzy, years of repressed hope bubbling to the surface as he scans her body, looking for injuries that clearly aren't there. She looks well. Really well. And for a moment he lets himself feel a rush of overwhelming relief at the prospect that he can let go of all the horrible scenarios he's been conjuring up in his head since he was fifteen. Maybe she really has been okay the whole time. Maybe it was all just some giant, insane misunderstanding and she's been living happily somewhere, healthy and warm and whole.

It's not until the last moment, when she has her coffee in hand and starts towards the door, that he panics, because she's walking away and he can't watch her leave. Not when he's only just found her. The idea of her disappearing again, lost in a sea of billions of people, has him choking on desperation and he's reaching out to grab her wrist, before he can think it through.

"_Felicity_." Her name is a prayer on his lips. The first time he's spoken those four syllables in a decade without them sending a stab of pain through his heart.

She turns to face him, the color drained from her face, her familiar eyes wide and fearful.

"What did you call me?" Her voice is scratchy and soft, as though she's holding back unexpected tears. He wants to drag her to him, enclose her in his arms so badly that he has to dig his fingernails into his palms to hold himself back.

"Your name. Felicity." He whispers, his eyes searching her face for any recognition, any understanding. He absently realizes that he's shaking.

She looks shell-shocked, confused and scared. And all he wants is to fix it all for her. Take that look off her face with a hug, pet her hair and give her ice cream until he can coax a smile from her sweet lips, just as he used to when she was a little girl. He could always get her to smile, even when she was crying so hard he thought his heart might break.

But she yanks her arm from his, eyes blazing and lip trembling, and she's running from the café before he can stop her, coffee falling forgotten from her hands, splashing against the floor. He's unaware of the eyes on them as he follows her, every instinct in his body determined not to let her out of his sight. Not again.

_He can't lose her again._

He follows her out into the back alley, where he finds her leaning against a wall, doubled over with her hands on her knees. Her hair forms a curtain around her face, but he can see her shoulders shaking. She looks small and fragile, and so alone, that he has to clench his teeth and breathe deeply to control the visceral reaction he's having to her distress.

He approaches her slowly this time, careful not to spook her.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He promises as he gets closer, his voice gentle and as steady as he can manage. "I know you probably don't remember me, but you used to live in the house opposite mine." He swallows past the lump in his throat, memories of her, aged six with a shiny smile on her face and a packet of sparklers in her hands, flicking through his brain like a clip show.

He remembers her _so_ clearly. Remembers everything about her like it all happened yesterday. Like no time has passed since he taught her to play football in his backyard, since she kissed his scraped knee when he fell off his skateboard, since they were just two happy children with their whole lives ahead of them.

"We were friends when we were kids." He finishes gently.

She looks up at him, eyes finally meeting his. Tears stain her cheeks and he forces himself not to close the distance between them and brush them away.

"Oliver?" Her voice is soft, unsure, but it sends a course of emotion through him, so strong he almost wobbles on his feet.

He nods shakily. "Yeah, I'm Oliver."

Her eyes hold his for a long second, and he can see the recognition there. See that she remembers it too. There's a flicker of warmth, of nostalgia, a flame that gets quickly buried by sorrow.

"I'm sorry." It's just a whisper, and before he has time to process what she means, she's running. Hair flying out behind her as she darts down the alley.

Her figure gets smaller as the distance between them grows.


End file.
